


we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team

by ellisaco



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry in particular was awful, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellisaco/pseuds/ellisaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's not very good at football, but he's aces at cheering Louis on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team

**Author's Note:**

> [for](http://24.media.tumblr.com/4393e161a6420dd8981c82b2b64ebfdf/tumblr_ml4310WyKg1qzh8kqo2_r1_250.gif) [obvious](http://malikeable.tumblr.com/post/47731117426/x) [reasons](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcb5znRHZY1rnj1r6o4_250.png) [....](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mccsh73xQa1ru5lexo1_250.jpg)
> 
> Oh, also, I'm about 3k away from finishing a 25k+ Harry/Louis uni au and I was wondering if someone would be willing to beta it for me? :)))

"Babe," Louis says, trying and failing to keep the amused smile off his lips, "you don't have to come. I know you hate football."  
  
He pulls his football kit over his head, robbing Harry of the lovely view of his chest, and falls on his bed next to Harry. Louis was getting dressed for his weekly pickup game with the lads when Harry got the sudden urge to join him.   
  
"I don't hate it," Harry protests, frowning—because how could he hate anything that Louis loves so passionately? Maybe he should put more of an effort into keeping up with ManU, strike up a conversation from time to time about a recent game. Louis would like that, he thinks.   
  
"Well, alright, I was just trying to think of a nice way to say that you're rubbish at it," says Louis with a soft chuckle that belies the harshness of his words.   
  
Harry sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, even though what Louis is saying is undeniably true, a regrettable fact of life.   
  
"But, hey, if you want to, I'm always up for a good laugh." Louis continues, teasing good naturedly.    
  
Harry takes it in stride, because, yeah, he does kind of resemble a baby foal when he runs. It's all good fun, regardless, and Harry doesn't mind if Louis has a bit of a laugh at his expense. Louis laughing is always a lovely thing, in Harry's opinion.   
  
Harry peels off his tight jeans and borrows a kit from Louis, the jersey and the shorts both a bit too small, making him look a bit ridiculous. But he doesn't want to have to go all the way back to his to get his own clothes. Anyway, he likes the way Louis' clothes feel against his skin, breathes in the scent of the laundry detergent Jay uses and the hint of Louis' own unique scent that clings pleasantly to the fabric.    
  
They walk down the street to the football field behind the school, where Liam, Niall, Stan, and some of Louis' school teammates are already warming up. Zayn is stood off to the side, hands up, looking like he's trying to convey to Liam that he _definitely shouldn't_ kick the ball to him.   
  
"Now, I may be wrong, Haz, but I don't think that's a standard cheerleading kit." says Niall as they approach.   
  
Louis darts forward and easily steals the ball Niall has been dribbling, ignoring his cries of outrage.   
  
"Better watch what you say about my boy, Niall." Louis says, dancing around him, Niall tripping over himself trying to keep pace with Louis' footwork.   
  
Zayn snorts, managing to sound derisive even as he sidesteps jerkily to avoid the football that's rolling towards him at a snail's pace. " _Please_ , Louis, as if you don't have some kinky footballer slash cheerleader fantasy."  
  
Louis just waves a hand dismissively, still playing keep away with Niall while turning his attention to Zayn, like it's almost too easy.  
  
"That's neither here nor there." he says. "Anyway, Harry's going to play with us today." He grins at Harry proudly.   
  
Louis' words are immediately met by a loud chorus of groans.   
  
"Heyyyy." Harry protests, more out of reflex than anything else.   
  
"Now, now, none of that. You'll all welcome Harry onto your team with open arms." Louis says in a tone that brooks no argument. It's his 'I'm your captain and you will do as I say' voice. "Since Jack isn't here today, it appears your team is in need of a fifth, Niall."  
  
"Ha! We'll still beat your arse even _with_ Harry on our team, Tommo."  
  
Louis grins, the glint of a challenge in his eyes—and then takes off down the field with the football. Niall is still for only a split second before he's chasing Louis down, and it's on.    
  
  
Harry likes football, he really does. He likes lacing up his boots and feeling the grass kick up under his feet, he likes curling up with Louis after a shit day and watching Giggs tear up the field, and he loves how much Louis loves every aspect of the game. Football, however, clearly does not like him.   
  
Harry has spent the last fifteen minutes just trying to stay on the same half of the field as the ball and trying not to trip over his own feet. Nobody passes to him, and he really can't begrudge them that because he's not even sure he could corral the ball if they did.   
  
But Louis—he's a force of nature, just like he always is, on or off the field. Harry won't say it out loud—lest Liam get upset and give him a wounded frown—but Louis is basically carrying his team. He's easily the fastest on the pitch, and sometimes Harry gets dizzy just _watching_ the sharp speed of his footwork.   
  
Louis' face is set and determined as he fakes Niall left and right before he pulls back to take a shot from what appears to be an impossible angle.    
  
Harry watches, captivated, as the ball sails in a perfect arc, entering the net right underneath the top bar. Louis celebrates with a simple fist pump and his teammates whoop and thump him on the back. But Harry—Harry can't help himself from clapping excitedly, eyes wide in awe, and holding a hand out for a high five as Louis goes by. Louis laughs, surprised, but hits Harry's hand before he jogs to get back into position.   
  
Harry realises he's probably been clapping a beat too long when Stan runs by him, already on the counter attack. He glances around and, sure enough, his teammates are giving him strange looks. Harry blushes a bit, but it was a sick goal, right, and Louis deserves the applause. He's, like, a _proper_ footballer, and Harry is proud of him no matter what side of the field he's on.   
  
Louis catches his eye from across the field and smiles fondly, one thumb up, like Harry's the one that's done something great. Harry grins, starry-eyed and pleased, only too eager to return the signal.  
  
"Quit fraternising with the enemy, Styles," someone quips as they run past.  
  
Harry shakes his curls out of his eyes and runs forward to put Will off side and—the football rolls towards him. Most likely only by the probability that it had to end up near him at _some_ point during the game, but it's there, and Liam is running towards him, closing the distance fast.   
  
Harry draws his foot back to kick the ball in Niall's general direction, but he catches Louis out the corner of his eye, running to keep up with the play, the muscles in his legs bunching and releasing in a smooth and seemingly effortless rhythm. Harry's probably gaping pretty obviously, but—it's a thing of beauty to watch Louis play football, it really is.   
  
And the next thing Harry knows the ball is gone. He looks back over his shoulder to see Liam streaking down the field, sidestepping defenders with a practiced ease. Harry huffs out a halfway frustrated sigh, because that was the only chance at actual ball contact that he's likely to get all game, but he can't find it within himself to be too upset.   
  
"Harry!" Niall yells, smacking Harry upside the head as he runs by, breathing hard as he tries to catch up to Liam. (Harry's not going to tell him that it's a futile effort at this point.) "Get your head in the game!"  
  
It jolts him a bit and he starts running, maybe not even in the proper direction, but at least he's in motion again. He figures it's a commendable recovery after being faced with an up close and personal view of Louis' straining thigh muscles.   
  
As Harry runs by Zayn, where he's sat on the sidelines, he's cackling, his book long forgotten. "This is brilliant. I don't know why anyone bothers paying good money for entertainment when they could just watch you play football for free, Haz."  
  
Harry scoffs. "If you're such an expert, why don't you come out here and show us how it's done?"  
  
"Oh, I'm not, that's why I'm sat here: comfortable, sweat-free, and ogling my boyfriend, same as you, only without having to chase a fucking ball around a field."  
  
That gives Harry pause—Zayn does have a fair point. Before he can reply, he's distracted by a commotion from the goal area. Liam seems to have scored again, and Niall is less than pleased, his arms thrown up in the air.   
  
"Oi, Harry," he yells, "what're ya doing, mate? Maybe you should sit this one out, you're throwing off the balance of our defence."   
    
Harry getting kicked off his own team, of course, sets Zayn off in a fresh round of hysterics, but Harry isn't bothered in the slightest. He just grins at Niall sheepishly and shrugs as if to say _what can you do?_ He should maybe be offended that Niall thinks he's so dreadful that they'd be better off a man down, but. That feels like it would be too much of an effort.   
  
He spreads out on the grass next to Zayn—taking great care to press his sweaty limbs against Zayn's—and lays back, hands resting under his head. Zayn really was onto something with this whole sitting on the sidelines and watching everyone else do all the work thing, because now he can fully appreciate Louis' playing without any distractions.   
  
  
Louis' team ends up winning, even after Will has to leave and the teams are once again evenly numbered. Harry thinks it was a foregone conclusion, but he's possibly a bit (a lot) biased.   
  
"You were brilliant out there, Lou, amazing, a proper football player." Harry gushes once Louis has broken away from the rest of the boys. And he's made no secret the whole day that he thinks that, but Louis still flushes from the praise, smiles like Harry's is the only approval that matters to him. And Harry is just—he's so in love that he can't breathe from it sometimes.  
  
"Thanks, love." His voice is a drowsy whisper when he speaks again a few moments later, like he's preparing himself to fall asleep the moment they get back. "So good to me."  
  
Harry feels warm all over from Louis' words, because all he wants is for Louis to be happy, and it gives him a buzz of pleasure whenever he can contribute to that.   
  
Louis has a quick shower before falling into bed next to Harry, eyes heavy and limbs drooping. He curls into Harry's arms, nuzzling at his neck.   
  
Harry kisses his wet hair and says, "I love you," because it's addictive and he can never say it enough.    
  
Louis sighs, content, presses a kiss to the underside of Harry's jaw. "Love you."


End file.
